History Books Forgot About Us
by Teenage.Anomaly
Summary: After a car accident, Evelyn Bond is thrown to the heart of ancient Britain and now, she's stuck with knights that smell awful and speak Latin. However, as they begin to grow on each other, history and hearts find themselves at a crossroads. A/OC/L, A/G/L
1. Body Odor and Dead Languages

_**History Books Forgot About Us**_** by Teenage Anomaly**

**A/N: Hellooooo, beautiful people! I normally write LOST stuff, but I was watching King Arthur a few weeks ago, and this just sort of popped into my head. I absolutely adore OCs, too, so, I mean. What else can you say, really? I've already got most of this written (it's going to be a little over ten chapters, I think) so updates will be pretty frequent. I'll post the next chapter once I get a couple of reviews. (couch cough). Anyway, hope everyone's having a lovely summer!**

**Summary: After a car accident, Evelyn Bond is thrown back through the ages to land smack dab in the middle of the camp of the Sarmation knights. Speaking very little Latin and not knowing how to ride a horse, she has to travel with the knights as they go to fetch Marius Honorius and his family. However, as she and certain knights grow on each other a little too much, history and hearts are set at a crossroads. Lancelot/OC/Arthur, Lancelot/Guinevere/Arthur.  
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**Rating: T for language, sexual content and some language.**

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own King Arthur or the songs featured at the beginnings of each chapter. The title of the story is taken from the song _Sampson_, belonging to Regina Spektor. I own Evelyn and the plot that isn't connected with the movie. ****THIS IS THE DISCLAIMER FOR ALL FOLLOWING CHAPTERS.

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_And history books forgot about us and the bible didn't mention us  
And the bible didn't mention us, not even once_

You are my sweetest downfall  
I loved you first, I loved you first  
Beneath the stars came fallin' on our heads  
But they're just old light, they're just old light

**Chapter One: Body Odor and Dead Languages**

Evelyn was not the kind of girl you'd call significant. She was short, a little chubby, she cackled when she laughed and snorted when she tried not to laugh. She was loud, the kind of loud that signifies a person who isn't used to being listened to, and she was crude, but she was also kind. She had a shoulder that had been softened by so many tears it was basically a pillow, and piercing blue eyes that could freeze your heart or melt it.

She was in her purple mini-van, bag filled with clothes, toiletries, sketchbook, iPod, camera and computer in the passenger seat, singing along to music as she drove to her friend's house. The day was grey and cloudy, but not yet raining. It was the kind of day in which one almost expected something extraordinary to happen.

It wasn't a dangerous intersection. And the accident definitely wasn't her fault. It was the boy in the white truck's fault, the boy with the sad smile and the bedroom eyes, when his brakes went out suddenly and he went skidding right into her. Time slowed down, and when she looked up to see his panicked face, she actually smiled at him.

-

When she woke up, she expected to see the white of a hospital, at the very least. To her a soft hum of machines and the voices of nurses and doctors. But instead, she heard voices speaking in a language she didn't understand, the crackle of a fire, and the soft braying of horses. She felt grass pressing against her sore back, scratching her face, and she smelled grass and horses and unwashed humans and blood-

She opened her eyes, very slowly, and groaned. She could see trees rising above her, and patches of the night sky here and there. Smoke rose from the fire and swirled over her face. She screwed her eyes shut again.

The voices were familiar, even though the language wasn't. Or was it? It definitely wasn't English, but there was…. something…

"Operor vos reputo puella mos excito sursum nunc?" (Do you think the girl will wake up soon?)

If only her head wasn't pounding as badly as it was…

Latin. She was taking Latin at her high school, and though she was not exactly an attentive student of the language, it was very recognizable… they were speaking Latin, a dead language.

She forced her eyelids open again, ignoring the stinging smoke, and rolled her head over. Her vision, still swimming, focused on a group of men, all sitting around the crackling fire. They all seemed to be… shiny?

One of them had dark, curly hair and a very intense face, and he seemed to have been the one who'd just spoken. Another man, built like a tank and bald, answered him in what had to be the Roman equivalent to a cockney accent, but his language was different. Still latin, but not completely latin.

She recognized them, but she couldn't think where from. A movie, maybe?

Her head hurt. Her head hurt, and her stomach hurt, and she felt like pins were being stuck into her shoulder. She felt the weight of something on her left arm, and the material felt like that of her bag.

_Good_, she found herself thinking sluggishly. _At least I'll have some clothes_.

Another man, tall dark and handsome, with a serene face and beautiful eyes, seemed to realize she was awake, and he said something to the other knights (knights? Why did she think knights?) who then all turned to her.

"You have pretty eyes," she heard herself say to the serene one. The men just stared at her, then the tank-like one laughed and said something in his garbled speech to her. She tried to shake her head and moved to sit up, clutching the grass with one hand and her head with the other. The world swam dizzyingly in front of her, the men swimming in circles. The men tensed and backed away slightly, as though they thought she was dangerous. That struck her as funny. When she removed her hand from her pounding head, she found that it was covered in blood.

"Oh, shit," she said, staring at it. She was beginning to wake up more now, the picture in front of her gaining focus, the faces of the men sharpening, the smells ripening. The men seemed to understand, at least partially, what she'd uttered, and there was laughter, mainly from the big guy, a man with long blonde hair, and a younger looking man with thick, curly brown hair who was unbelievably gorgeous.

The man who seemed to be their leader, the serene and serious one, asked her a question in Latin. She just shook her head.

"I don't speak Latin," she said, very slowly. The man stared at her, uncomprehending. It was beginning to register in her tired and dazed mind, where and when she was, and she knew she'd freak out later.

"Roman," she said, reaching out to the man- Arthur. The man called Tristan's hand twitched toward his dagger, but Arthur gave him a look that stopped him. She smiled at him in what she hoped was an encouraging way, then touched her hand to her own chest.

"American," she said, knowing full well that this would mean nothing to them, but hoping that it would let them know she wasn't from around here. Arthur shook his head almost apologetically, his eyes not leaving hers.

" ego - ego operor non -" (I- I don't)

She knew enough latin to get the basic gist and nodded, digging through her mind furiously.

"Um… sum, eh, Evelyn? Evelyn Bond."

She stared at him. "Sum Evelyn."

I am Evelyn.

He nodded very slowly. "Eve-lyn."

A grin spread across her face. "Yes. Um… ita… vero?"

"Yes," he repeated, his gravelly voice unsure, and she nodded again, feeling very proud of herself. "Ita vero."

"Yes," he said again, more confidently. He turned and said something to the rest of the knights, and whatever it was, they didn't like it. The tank-man, Bors, who had been shaking his head, now interrupted in a stream of angry Latin and…. Gaelic? He was staring at Arthur, but gestured angrily at Evelyn. The man called Lancelot said a few biting words, and she wasn't sure if they were aimed at Arthur, Bors, or herself. She watched in fascination, amazed at hearing dead languages spoken aloud by people who actually… knew them.

Arthur answered back, his words sharp but not harsh. Bors shook his head, shouted something else, and gestured to Evelyn.

"Exsisto unus lemma!" (She could be one of them!)

She wasn't stupid. She knew who these men were; she knew what they were fighting. She opened her mouth to say something (what, she didn't know), but Arthur beat her to it.

"Est parvulus, Bors." (She's a child, Bors.)

"Parvulus vel haud parvulus , is venit ex nusquam per livor totus super suus somes quod a cruentus vulnus in pars of suus caput capitis! Quam operor vos TENEO est non unus lemma?" (Child or no child, she came outta nowhere with bruises all over her body and a bloody wound on the side of her head! How do you KNOW she ain't one of them?)

Lancelot interrupted, shaking his striking head. Evelyn's latin was not nearly up to these standards, and she was lost in the conversation. Galahad moved over to her, smiling gently, his clothes rustling, and put a hand over his heart.

"Galahad," he said, and she nodded.

"I know," she said. He merely looked confused, and she sighed.

"Est knowledgus?"

Nothing.

"It was worth a try," she informed him. He smiled, confused, and shook his head.

"Operor non agnosco." (I don't understand.)

"Yeah, I know," she sighed, before looking back up at him with a brilliant smile. She put a hand to her chest.

"Evelyn," she said. "Sum Evelyn."

Gently, he grasped her small hand in his large, calloused one, and brought it to his smiling lips, eyes never leaving hers.

"Iucunditas, Ev-a-lyn," he murmured. The blonde man- Gawain- nudged him and laughed, and then Galahad punched him in the side.

Lancelot and Arthur were talking in low voices, Dagonet and Tristan were ignoring her, Gawain and Galahad were now wrestling quietly, and Bors was glaring at her.

She pulled her knees up to her chest and tried not to cry as she stared at the men around her.

-

She didn't know when she fell asleep, but she woke up to feel hands on her shoulders and rolled over with a panicked gasp to see Arthur. He held his hands up in the universal sign of surrender, and then gestured to the cloak he'd just covered her with- the one off his back. His face was sincere and beautiful; he had the kind of face that one immediately turned to for comfort or confirmation. The clearing was filled with the snores of Bors, not exactly romantic, but Eve had to fight back a wide grin and an "awwww". It was one of the sweetest things anyone had ever done for her. High-school guys in the 21st century weren't exactly chivalrous.

Arthur smiled at her again, an expression that didn't quite reach his eyes, before he went to lay back down.

Eve pulled the cloak tighter around her shivering shoulders. She'd thankfully brought a pillow in her bag, so she had that, and now Arthur's cloak.

The sky was beginning to lighten now, into a very dusky gray, but she fell back asleep, her stomach churning.

-

When Eve awoke a few hours later, the pain in her head and the pain all over her body (from the wreck and sleeping on the hard ground, she supposed) caused her to roll over and immediately throw up in the grass. Her body heaved as she clutched at the ground, and then she collapsed, tears rolling down her white face. There were footsteps, quiet crunching noises, and boots came into her vision. The legs attached to the boots crouched down, and then Galahad's sympathetic face came into her view. Not caring that she was crying, not caring about anything, she simply stared up at him. He gave her a small smile and then reached a hand out to her.

"I'm so tired," she informed him, knowing full well that he didn't understand. He merely nodded and gestured with his hand, the meaning clear: _c'mon, girl._

Mustering all her strength, emotional and physical, she grabbed the knight's hand and he pulled her to her feet. She stood up for the first time since the crash only to find that Galahad, one of the shorter knights, was almost a head taller than her.

"Gratis," she said to him, and he nodded, a wide smile breaking across his face, and he began speaking in rapid latin, but she shook her head, and he trailed off, looking a little disappointed.

"I only know a few words," she said slowly, holding up two fingers, then doing the duck move with her hand to mime talking. After looking at her in confusion, understanding dawned on Galahad's face.

The rest of the knights were waking up as well, getting the horses ready to leave. They didn't seem to care about her anymore- or, at least, they wanted her to think that. But she saw the looks they gave her when they thought she wasn't looking.

When they were finally ready to leave, Galahad gestured to his horse, speaking in that odd mix of Gael and Latin, and then mimed lifting something onto it. The horse neighed and its intelligent eyes fixed Eve in a stare. She moved to it and gingerly reached out to pet his long snout. He snorted, but allowed her to pet him.

Lancelot said something, and Dagonet replied in a laughing tone. Eve bent down slowly to pick up her bag and slung the strap over her shoulder and turned to Galahad, motioning to the horse like he had done.

"Ita vero," she said. "Yes."

His face widened into that easy-going smile again, and he lifted her onto the horse, almost effortlessly. The other knights laughed when she gasped and clutched at the horse's mane. Galahad raised himself up in front of her, then grabbed her wrists and pulled them around his waist, grinning the entire time. Tristan said something she knew couldn't be polite, because Lancelot gave a low whistle and Bors erupted into laughter with Dagonet and Gawain, and even Arthur smiled.

Eve flipped them off, which had no effect on them what-so-ever.

---

It only took a few hours of horse back riding for Eve to decide that she didn't like it at all. Her butt was sore, her back was killing her, her headache was going full-throttle, and to top it off, she felt greasy and dirty and really wanted a shower.

Not a good day.

She'd put on all the socks she'd had with her that morning, as she only had a t-shirt, canvas shorts, and now Arthur's cloak to protect her from the cold. One of the pairs of socks was of the kind that went up to her thigh (and had Jack Sparrow's face on the side). She was glad that her friend's house was perpetually cold, leading her to bring more than was probably necessary. The knights seemed amused by her clothing, but even they- womanizers, if what she knew and what she'd seen was any indication- were also a little scandalized by a woman running around in what they considered underwear.

_If they saw __**her**__ underwear,_ she thought wryly to herself, _they'd probably fall off those horses._

Gahalad and Gawain, who seemed to be very good friends, rode together and laughed and talked, but there was still an undertone of tension and focus, as though at any second they could go from laughing men to soldiers. They could. She knew they could. But what if they were attacked? What about her?

She shuddered and tightened her arms around Galahad's waist, looking out at the dark forest that encompassed them, imagining painted blue faces.

It wasn't that she blamed the Woads- the Picts. She'd fight for her freedom too, if it came to that.

But if they attacked, now, she didn't know what she'd do. She was stronger than she looked, with cool nerves and head on her shoulders in a crisis, and she could fight with her hands, but fists weren't much compared to metal so sharp it could cut you with barely a graze.

And she knew about that, she thought, looking down at her arm, which she'd nicked on Galahad's sword.

She supposed she would hide, maybe take a weapon, and try to stay alive. If she had to, she'd join the Woads, if the unbelievable happened and the knights died.

But as she looked to the front of the pavilion, to Arthur, she didn't think that was going to happen.

-

Using the bathroom was very, very awkward. Being the only female in a group of seven guys was a factor, as was that they could just stand up and whip it out and she had to go somewhere secluded and squat down and pray that they didn't think barging in on her would be funny.

"Stay," she said very forcefully to Arthur, who made to follow her when they rested. She pointed to the ground he was standing on, then to him. He looked at her, that perpetually thoughtful and sad look on his gorgeous face.

"I'm going to the bathroom," she said, pointed at Bors, who was doing his business with his back to them. She held out a hand and moved two of her fingers across it; walking.

"I'll be right back," she said, and then disappeared into the forest.

---

Arthur went back to join his knights, still keeping half an eye on the place where the girl had disappeared.

Came out of nowhere from the forest, then disappeared back into it like she belonged there. Spies were above Woad intelligence, but the girl almost made him wonder…

"_She's nothing like them_," said Tristan absentmindedly, sharpening his dagger, and Arthur looked over at him, but said nothing.

"_Different style of moving, language that I've never heard before, clothes that I've never seen…"_ he shook his head, shaggy hair swaying with the movement. "_She's something different altogether_."

"_That's little comfort_," said Arthur, and Tristan held the knife up to the light to examine it.

"_I know_," he said. "_But it's a comfort_."

The girl emerged from the woods a few seconds later. That bewildered look she wore seemed almost plastered onto her pretty face, which, given the circumstances of her appearance, was understandable. The right side of her head was covered in dried blood, but she appeared to have tried to clean some of it off. Her hair was now pulled back, not in a bun, as was the style, but as the Briton man wore his hair- a tail, but higher on her head.

She glanced around the camp, pretty blue eyes nervous, scanning all of the men, almost as though she was sizing them up. When her eyes reached Arthur's, he was still staring at her, and he nodded to her. She smiled a crooked smile at him, those eyes crinkling up as she began to walk over to him. She had a very identifiable gait- she swaggered like man, instead of swaying like a woman. In a lot of ways, she was very masculine. And in a lot of ways, pure woman.

She sat down next to him, on a dead tree that had fallen over, and said something in that awkward, clunky speech that she had. She gestured wildly, her voice full of emotion and she turned her big, pleading blue eyes onto him.

"_I don't know what you're saying_," he informed her, and she sighed, shaking her bloody head. She said something else, then followed it by the familiar phrase, "Ita vero."

"_How do you know that_?" he asked her. She stared at him, uncomprehending. "_How do you know some words, some phrases_?" he asked her very slowly. He tapped his forehead, held up two fingers, then pointed to his mouth. Understanding lit up her blue eyes, and she asked him something. He repeated the words, slowly, hesitantly.

"Took a latin class?"

A bright grin lit up her face, transforming her momentarily. She was suddenly not just a misplaced, bewildered girl, but also a stunning young woman. Arthur found that he was smiling back at her involuntarily.

"Took… a… latin… class," she said, very slowly. He knew the word "latin", of course, but the others were unfamiliar.

"Class," she said, then began miming something. She looked almost like a teacher, standing up with a very stern look on her face and gesturing to the rock she had been sitting on, and then she was sitting back on the rock, one leg crossed over the other, staring at where she'd been standing a second ago, face intense, nodding.

Teacher.

She was educated, but in a different language, and she'd somehow learned part of his language from another teacher.

She saw the understanding dawn in his eyes, and nodded. "Class," she said.

The other men were now on their horses again, ready to be on the move. Lancelot rode over to the two of them, his dark face intense.

"_Arthur_," he said. "_The men are ready to move out_." His eyes flicked to the girl, who was studying him with an almost detached interest. She grinned at him, when he caught her looking, but he merely turned away.

"_Is she going to slow us down_?" he asked Arthur as the older man raised himself onto his horse. He saw Galahad extend a hand to help the girl up. She smiled at him, saying something.

"Gratis."

Not answering Lancelot, because he wasn't really sure what to say, he rode to the front of the group, and they were off again.

---

They stopped only once more that day, excepting when they slept that night.

Eve's arms were chaffed from Galahad's rough shirt, her legs were chaffed from gripping a horse, her butt was spectacularly bruised, her back was killing her, and she needed a shower very desperately. When Arthur finally called a halt for the day, she slid off Galahad's horse and simply collapsed onto the damp, cold ground. Her back cracked almost five times and she lay there, spread eagled, clutching her bag and telling herself that a normal person would be crying.

But then, she'd never been normal, had she?

The knights were laughing at her and Dagonet bent over to say something to her that was probably rude, but she simply gave him the thumbs up.

"That's awesome, dude," she said.

The knights didn't exactly have sleeping bags. They slept on the bare ground, wrapped up in a thin blanket, and there was always at least two of them awake, keeping watch. Eve was growing used to them, to the latin and Gaelic, to their smell (which wasn't exactly pleasant) and to the angry looks that all of them except for Galahad and Arthur gave her.

However, that didn't mean that she wanted to be like them. So when she heard the stream near by, she grabbed her bag and disappeared into the woods after trying to explain to Arthur what she was doing.

---

To say that the knights were unhappy about their newest addition would be a grievous understatement. While the girl was undoubtedly pretty, the knights seldom thought about women while on missions. They tried to stay focused on the task at hand, and the girl would be a distraction, at best. She would also slow them down, and now, they would have to worry about protecting her if they had to fight- and most of them knew that they would have to fight. Galahad didn't seem to mind her, but he was still of the young and happier age where every woman was beautiful and worth protecting, and Arthur cared for everyone, but the others would be happy to leave her behind.

The two who were the unhappiest with the current situation were Lancelot and Bors. Bors simply didn't like being hindered, especially by a woman, and Lancelot didn't like that Arthur seemed to want to protect the young thing, and he despised himself for being distracted by her.

Considering what was about to happen, that was very ironic.

Lancelot wasn't big on wondering aimlessly, but after the girl had been gone for fifteen minutes, Arthur asked him to go check on her. As much as Arthur ever asked anything, anyway. He'd never force anyone to do anything, but there was a power and grace in his being that made you want to obey him. So with a dark look, Lancelot entered the woods where the girl had last been.

Tracking her was easy. She wasn't graceful, and she had that large, odd-looking pack with her. He followed her trail until the woods opened up and he saw the river he'd been hearing, along with the girl- completely naked, in the water up to her waist, with her back to him.

He smirked, and called out to her. She shrieked and ducked completely into the water that had to be freezing, before turning around and yelling at him. They didn't have to speak the same language for him to understand what she was saying. Under the water, her arms were wrapped tightly around her chest, and she was shivering. Lancelot closed his eyes and turned his back to her.

"_I'm not looking, you moronic woman_," he said. "_Get out of the damn water before you freeze to death. Actually, in that case-_"

He was cut off by biting words, very close to him, and he opened his eyes in time to see a leg disappear underneath the deep red of Arthur's cloak. The girl was glaring at him, her hair wet, shivering. She smelled different. She smelled odd, and floral.

"_Your smell is different_," he said, and she just raised an eyebrow, before saying something sarcastically.

"_Haven't you realized that I don't understand you_?" he asked her, raising an eyebrow as well. He was unaware that she had just uttered the same thing.

In that instant, all the fight and fire seemed to go out of her and she slouched over. Pulling out a hand from underneath the cloak (he once again caught a glimpse of skin, this time a stomach, and she was tan for a woman) she flapped it (her hand) at him, the universal, timeless sign for "get the hell away from me".

He gave her a short, sarcastic bow. "_As you wish, my lady_," he almost snarled at her, glaring at her before heading back to the camp.

---

"_Where is she_?" asked Arthur once he reached the camp. Lancelot shot a look at him.

"_She's bathing_," he spat.

---

Eve felt much better, albeit very embarrassed after her encounter with the handsome knight that seemed to hate her.

She felt clean, she looked clean, she smelt clean, and she had half a mind to try and make the knights bathe too, because, to be frank, they stunk. The only one that didn't reek was Arthur, and she supposed that came from his being Roman, having public baths and all.

When she got to the camp, all the knights were sleeping (and snoring very loudly) except for Arthur and, as her luck would have it, Lancelot.

"What's up?" she greeted, sitting down next to the future king. He simply looked at her before saying something. She sighed and shook her wet head, pulling his cloak tighter around her cold shoulders.

"I know we probably need to talk to each other, so that we can learn how to communicate," she said, "but I'm too freaking tired right now." She patted the man's iron clad knee before pulling out her pillow and turning over to sleep.

**TBC...

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"Sampson" by Regina Spektor.

PLEASE REVIEW!

Love, Sarah


	2. Not My God

_**History Books Forgot About Us**_** by Teenage Anomaly

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_She exhales vanilla lace,  
I barely dreamt her, yesterday  
Read the lines in the mirror through,  
The lipstick trace.  
Por siempre_

She said "It seems you're somewhere, far away" to his face.

It's in the blood,  
It's in the blood.  
I met my love before I was born.  
She wanted love,  
I taste of blood.  
She bit my lip, and drank my war,  
From years before, from years before.

**Chapter Two: Not My God**

As I got more used to the knights, they got more used to me. We weren't exactly trading nail polish, but we could abide each other now. Dagonet seemed to find me annoying but amusing, Tristan more or less ignored me, Galahad (I thought) had a huge crush on me, Gawain treated me as a sister, Bors at least tried to be civil to me, Arthur was my protector, and Lancelot still seemed to hate me. But that was okay. One out of seven wasn't bad, and sometimes, I'd catch him glaring at me in a way that made me wonder exactly why he hated me.

One thing the movie didn't show was how dang long it took to get to what's his face's house. We'd been on the road a week, and Arthur had managed to convey that we were over halfway there, so I was guessing another two or three days.

Speaking of conveying, the knights and I understood each other much better at this point. I don't know how long it takes to pick up a language under normal circumstances, but these circumstances sure as Santa were not normal, and I picked up on languages fast, as did the knights. Not that we were fluent, or even close, in each other's languages, but we knew what the other was speaking about, now. We spoke in an awkward mixture of Latin, English, Gael and miming. It was kind of like our own language and kind of like a bunch of losers who didn't know what the hell they were doing.

I bathed every chance I got, so about every two days. It kept me sane, and the knights seemed to find it amusing, how OCD I was about being clean. But then, after smelling them, I could see why. I washed my clothes, too, scrubbing at them with body wash until all of the dirt and the smell of horses and dirty men was out. I hung them over the fire at night, and soon the camp (and the knights) smelled of gardenia. It was a change for the better. The scent that on me was feminine and light took on a darker, more seductive angle when the knights smelled of it.

Especially Arthur. The man gave off this powerful aura of grace and power and restlessness, it would have been hard to not stare at him even if he was ugly. But he wasn't ugly. He was beautiful. And he was kind and welcoming.

---

The group reached Marius' house, finally, the day before it started snowing. The tempers of the knights had been worn thin from stress, and they knew they were out of time. Evelyn sensed this and wisely chose to keep her mouth shut.

"When will we be there?" she asked Galahad, very quietly, in the odd mixture of languages that they spoke to each other in.

"What?" he asked.

"When will we get to Marius' house?"

"About an hour," he said, and after thinking about the words for a moment, understanding dawned and Evelyn nodded, squeezing him slightly.

Marius' home was without a doubt beautiful, but the sight was marred by many emaciated people and thatched straw huts outside. There was the man in manacles, the stone huts that housed Guinevere and Lucan, and the armed Roman guard. Evelyn eyed all of it apprehensively. The villa was nestled between the mountain, and fog covered the entire scene. It felt mystical, almost.

She didn't belong here.

The short, pompous, chubby man named Marius Honorius came striding out from between the gates, followed by a veritable train of people. Eve, not interested in hearing him speak words she doubted she'd understand, dismounted from behind Galahad and walked over to a thin little girl, who was watching her with big eyes.

"Quis est… um, vestry… nomen? What's your name?" asked Evelyn, bending over, her hands on her knees. The girl stared up with her extraordinary glass-green eyes.

"Braewyn," she said. She tugged on the rich fabric of Arthur's cloak, then asked, "Are you a free woman?"

"… in a way."

"Can you make me free? Make me free like them?" she asked, jerking her little head to the knights, who were now glaring at Marius. Eve got a twisting feeling in her stomach as she looked back into the girl's eyes, and she grasped the thing's scrawny little shoulders.

"People are going to tell you differently, all your life, but listen to what I'm going to say: you were born free, you will die free, and the only one who can change that is you. You are second to no one, not the pope, not any man or woman. Do you understand?"

She nodded, after a moment, and Eve straightened up. The people (slaves, she thought forcefully to herself) were crowding around her, and the men seemed more comfortable to approach her.

"Are you from Rome?" one asked her, a tall, broadly built man, though he was as thin as the rest.

"No," said Eve, struggling for the words, looking around at the crowd.

"You're dark as a man," came another voice from behind her and she turned around. "If you're not from Rome, then where-"

"Somewhere you've never heard of," she said, just as Arthur strode over, his face radiating anger. He pointed at the old man who was in chains with his sword.

"Who is that man?" he asked, his voice dark. The crowd parted out of his way, but Eve didn't move, and his eyes swept over her almost sadly.

"He's our village elder," Ganis explained, and both Eve and Arthur stared from the young man to the old one. Arthur's face was full of icy anger as Ganis told of the elder's "sin".

"I tell you now," he said, pointing the sword at all of the people in the crowd. "Marius is _not_ of God. And you, all of you, were free from your first breath!"

He whirled around and swung the sword and the man began to fall. Eve leapt forward and caught his frail body before it hit the ground, though she blanched at the feel of his open wounds under her hands. The man moaned, and she swung Arthur's cloak off her shoulders with one hand and laid it over him.

"Help this man," commanded Arthur, his eyes flashing. "Help him!"

"Please," Eve interrupted, her voice raised. "Please get me some water and some clean bandages."

The people stared at her, unsure of what she'd said.

"She needs water and bandages," said Arthur. His eyes were pieces of green steel in his hard face. "Now."

As a woman brought Eve the things she'd asked for, Arthur instructed Ganis to get the people ready to leave. Eve took the jar of water and tipped some into the old man's mouth, poured some on a rag, and began to try to clean him up a little. She was almost in tears, quivering from anger.

She, with the help of another woman, revived him, and then the woman, who was the man's daughter, gave Eve the cloak back and helped the man into a hut. Eve rose shakily to her feet, clutching the cloak to her chest.

It had begun to snow.

She looked around the camp, at all the hunger and the injustice, and she wanted to scream. She wanted to tell these people that the world wouldn't always be this bad- but how could she?

"Evelyn," said Arthur's voice from behind her, and she turned around to see the commander. "I need your help," he said, and she nodded. He gestured to the stone hut with his head.

"We're going in. I would appreciate it if you would come."

She nodded again, knowing what they were going to find in there. "Okay."

As Dagonet broke in the stone door with his ax, Evelyn and Arthur strode over the wet grass to the hut and entered simultaneously.

It was like something out of a nightmare. The inside of the hut smelt of death and decay, and the light was greenish, while manacles hung from the ceiling and a voice chanted in latin.

Arthur went down the staircase first, Evelyn and Lancelot right behind him.

"Who are these defilers of the lord's temple?" snarled the greasy, grimy haired man who'd been chanting. Lancelot and Arthur began looking inside the cages, the pens, while Eve simply stood at the entrance to the room, her jaw clenched in shock and horror and anger.

Lancelot turned around and fixed Arthur with a burning look. "The work of your god?" he spat.

"This is not God's work," said Eve, quietly, still in shock. The man rounded on her, his yellow eyes already almost dead, and spat, "What would a _woman_ know of the work of God-"

There was a clatter as the alter toppled to the ground, and the next second Eve had the man pinned to the mossy wall by his throat. She was shaking and he stared down at her in incredulous fear.

She felt a hand on her shoulder and turned her head to see Arthur looking down at her, and everything she felt was reflected in his face. She turned back to the man, looking into his eyes as she let go of him and stepped back. Arthur's hand fell off her shoulder and she turned to the nearest pen, kicking the bars so hard that they fell in, clattering on the floor. Her foot began bleeding.

"See if there's any still alive," said Arthur, his voice thick with emotion. Eve and Lancelot glanced at each other, then began opening doors and looking in between bars.

"How dare you set foot in this holy place-"

The was on odd _shrrrk_ sound, a grunt, and then the sound of a body falling to the floor. Eve turned around to see Lancelot confronted by the false priest.

"That…. Was man of god!"

"Not my god!" snarled Lancelot, and Eve stepped forward.

"God loves everyone," she said, her voice quivering as every eye turned to her. "He forgives. And here you are, murdering in the name of Him!"

"It is his will," slimed the man, and Eve strode forward.

"It's YOUR will!" she shouted, fists clenched.

"Evelyn," said Arthur, but she ignored him, pointing to the man, all of her anger laid bare.

"You say one more word," she growled. "And I swear I will kill you."

He said nothing and took a step back. She whirled on the Roman soldiers, then ran out of the hut.

It was too much.

She emerged into fresh air, gasping, and Galahad was immediately next to her.

"Evelyn? Are you alright-"

"What is in there?" asked Tristan. Eve, too overcome, simply shook her head, not trusting herself to speak.

Explanations, however, were unneeded, as the next second Arthur and Dagonet came out of the hut, carrying Guinevere and Lucan. Eve scrambled over to Arthur and Guinevere.

"Is she alright?" she asked, staring down into the girl's exhausted face.

"I don't know."

"She's a Woad," said Tristan quietly.

"She's a human, too," said Eve, taking her hand. They couldn't have been more than three years apart in age, but Guinevere looked centuries older.

"I'm a Roman officer," said Arthur quietly as he tipped a water jug over Guinevere's mouth. "You're safe now."

"Stop what you are doing!" yelled Marius, coming into the circle of nights and officers.

Eve leapt to her feet and punched him in the face.

Tristan chuckled.

The man wiped a trickle of blood away from his mouth, staring at the panting Eve in angry astonishment.

"You will pay for that-!"

"What is this madness?" snarled Arthur, rising to his feet. Marius' eyes flashed to him.

"They are all pagans here!"

"So are we," said Galahad stonily, his pretty face drawn and angry.

"They refuse to do the task God has set for them!"

"Oh yeah?" snarled Eve. "And what the hell's that? Bendin' over backwards for you?"

Marius turned to her, a steely look on his face. "A woman should learn to hold her tongue in the presence of a higher intelligence-"

"That might be a problem," she snapped, stepping forward, "if I saw any higher intelligence."

Tristan chuckled again, and Arthur stepped forward also. "You mean they refused to be your serfs!" he shouted, and Eve, never having seen him angry before, was genuinely frightened. Marius seemed to freeze.

"You are a Roman. You understand. _And_ you are a Christian!"

He looked down at him wife, who was stroking Guinevere's face comfortingly, and his face contorted in fury. "You! You kept her alive!"

He hit her, and Eve's face twisted in anger and disbelief as she said, "Oh, _hell_ no," just as Arthur punched him. When Marius fell to the ground, Arthur grabbed his sword. Two soldiers and Eve stepped forward.

"My lord-"

"No, no, stop! When we get to the wall, you will be punished for this heresy."

"Perhaps I should kill you now and seal my fate," threatened Arthur. Eve leant over Marius.

"Where I come from, that's code for 'I don't give a fuck'," she informed him.

They left about half an hour later. Eve had a horse of her own, now, and she rode up next to Arthur.

"Hey, Arthur," she called, and he turned back to her.

"Yes."

"It took over a week to get here, so how are we-"

"We're going a different route this time," he said, looking to the snow covered mountains. "It will only take four days."

"So why didn't we come that way?"

"Woads." He said simply, and she nodded.

"Saxons are worse, right?"

"Yes."

She began to ride off, and he called her back.

"Evelyn."

She turned to horse around, and blue eyes met green. He really was stunning.

"Yeah?" she asked.

"In the future, try to control your temper." His voice was the same as always, that quiet powerful tone, and his facial expression didn't change any. She almost wished it had.

Feeling like a child that had been chastised, she bit her tongue and nodded, then spurred her horse to ride up next to Lancelot.

"Are you okay?" she asked him, her voice low. His face was still dark and very angry, and he didn't even look at her.

"Why wouldn't I be?" he snapped.

"Lancelot-"

"I don't want your pity or your help," he said, bitingly, turning to face her. She felt like she was shrinking, inside. "Seeing as you've never had to fight for anything in your entire life."

"What makes you so damn sure?!" she shouted as he spurred his horse to ride ahead of her.

He didn't look back, leaving her next to the wagons, wondering what she'd done wrong, trying not to cry.

-

I got inside the carriage that housed Lucan and Guinevere, after Arthur had set her fingers. Dagonet was watching over Lucan with all the attentiveness of a father, and I crouched next to him with a jug of water and two pills of Ibuprofen. Dagonet looked up at me, then glanced at the Ibuprofen.

"What is it?" he asked.

"It's medicine. It'll bring his temperature down and it'll take away some of the pain."

Dagonet sized me up for a minute, then nodded and shifted aside so that I could kneel next to the boy. His feverish eyes turned on me, and he was shaking.

"I have some medicine for you," I said quietly. "It'll make you feel better, okay? Open your mouth for me."

He did and I placed the medicine inside, poured some water into his mouth, and said, "Swallow."

He did, and immediately began coughing. I rubbed his throat, and when the cough subsided, I asked, "Did it go down?"

Not understanding, he looked to Dagonet, who repeated my question in Gaelic. The boy nodded. I smiled down at him, stroking his hair.

"Good."

Swaying with the movement of the carriage, I made my way back to Guinevere, pulling more medicine out of my jean pockets. Her eyes never left my face as I crouched down next to her.

"I'll understand if you don't believe me," I said, my words halting and unsure, "but I want you to know that I'm not a Roman, or a Sarmation."

"You're not a Woad."

I shook my head, the tendrils of hair that hadn't stayed back in a bun swaying in front of my face. "No. But you could say that I'm a…." I struggled to think of the word. "Sympathizer."

Her face was blank, and with a sigh, I held out the Ibuprofen. She eyed it.

"It's medicine," I explained. "It'll bring down your fever and take away some of the pain-"

"What do you know of pain?" she asked me, eyes flashing. I hesitated.

"Nothing," I admitted finally, thinking of Lancelot's barb from earlier, staring into her deep blue eyes. "I had a comfortable life, before this, family and friends that I loved, privilege, chances, hope, all that jazz. But in the past week I've seen more pain than a lot of people had in one life. You guys are in the right. The Romans came in here, no right and no reason, and you guys are fighting on the right side. I wanna help in any way I can, even if that's just giving you and the kid some medicine."

She stared at me for a moment, then without a word, took the pills and swallowed them.

-

We set up camp that night, the soldiers and knight and me outside while the rest slept in the carriages.

"May I speak to you for a moment?" came Arthur's low voice from behind me. I turned around, dropping the stick that I'd been drawing in the snow with, to see him standing behind me. It was really weird. Arthur, the king of legends, and he was standing behind me, waiting for me.

"Of course," I said, rising to my feet unsteadily and pulling his cloak tightly around my shoulders. I followed him as he led me a ways away from the camp, where we could have privacy but still protection.

"What is it?" I asked him, and he handed me a bundle, almost awkwardly.

"Here," he said. I opened it to see some clothes, men's clothes, but warmer than what I had now. I glanced up at Arthur, who was staring down at me.

"Are these yours?"

His mouth twitched. "Not any more."

"Arthur, I'm decent with what I've got, really-" I tried to hand the clothes back to him, but he folded him big hands over my tiny ones, and my voice died in my throat and I felt a warm shock go through me. I felt like I was shrinking into myself as his eyes bore into mine.

"Please," he said, his voice quiet and gravelly, his eyes intense and beautiful. "As my gift."

I hugged him tightly without thinking and he stiffened, his arms held beside my body uncomfortably.

"It's okay," I said into the metal and leather of his armor. "You can touch me."

His hands rubbed up my arms, then grasped my shoulders and gently pulled me away. I looked up at him, my hands falling limply to my side. His face was intense and exhausted.

"I wanted to do more than just give you my clothes," he said.

"Okay," I said, then added in English, "Shoot."

He stared at me and then shook his head. "Over the past week, I have come to regard you as someone worthy of trust. Is it wise of me to hold you to that?"

I had no idea what the man was getting at, but I was over-whelmed by the sincerity of his words. Patting his arm, I nodded.

"Of course."

"We're going to have to fight."

I nodded again, my breath catching in my throat. "I know."

His eyes bore into mine. "Will _you_ fight with us?"

I blanched. "What?"

"The second day after you joined us, you had Galahad's sword. You know how to use it, and we only have seven men. Will you fight?"

I stared up at him, stunned by the gravity of the situation. "Arthur-"

"Please," he said suddenly, stepping toward me, pain in his eyes. "Please don't think I've come to this decision lightly. I know I'm sending you to your death-"

"I'll fight," I said suddenly, and his face tensed. I reached out and took his hand, gently.

"Arthur… there's something I should probably tell you."

-

We sat on the ground, Arthur staring at my 21st century gadgets, me staring at him. His beautiful face was torn between disbelief and confusion as he stared at my computer.

"You're from the future," he said, flatly, and I nodded nervously.

"America…. What is that?"

"It's my home. A place I'd die for."

He half laughed, half scoffed. "It must be a magnificent place."

"You have no idea," I said quietly. He turned to look at me, black hair falling into his eyes, his lined face serious, and he asked, "Why should I believe you?"

It was as though someone had dropped an ice cube in my stomach.

"What?"

"You've just told me you're from a place that won't exist for over a thousand years. Why should I believe you?"

"Cause if I was lying, I'd have a way better story," I said flatly.

We simply sat, staring at each other in the snow, and then he sighed.

"What this world's coming too, I can't know," he murmured, staring off into space. I half-shrugged.

"I could tell you, if you want."

He looked at me, and a half smile spread across his face.

---

"Looks like our intrepid leader's making friends," said Gawain, leaning back against a tree and folding his hands over his stomach. Lancelot glanced over at Arthur, who was staring intently at the girl. She was talking animatedly, waving her arms, painting pictures in the frosty air with her words.

"Been wonderin' when 'e was gonna find a girl," muttered Bors, settling down against a thick pack with a grunt. "Didn't 'spect it to be wiv' a girl like that, but to each 'is own, eh?" He nudged Lancelot and cackled deeply.

"I don't trust her," said Lancelot, looking back over at them again. Arthur was chuckling now, as the girl made a face, still gesturing wildly.

"Wot choice do we have?" said Gawain. "Arthur trusts her."

"Arthur trusts everyone," said Tristan, dropping his things with a 'clunk' before settling into the circle.

"And that's the problem," said Lancelot, almost smirking. Bors scoffed, flapping a hand at all of them.

" 'E might be a sap, but 'e ain't stupid. Don't like 'er, but if he trusts 'er, I trust 'er." He rolled over onto his side and was snoring within minutes. The other knights followed his example, but the girl's laugh kept Lancelot awake.

Grudgingly, he looked over at them again. Arthur was truly laughing now, less restrained than Lancelot, his closest friend, had ever seen him, while the girl watched, admiration clear on her face.

_Wonderful_, Lancelot thought to himself. _The girl has a hero._

---

He awoke to a still, white morning. The rest of the camp was still asleep and the sky was still the whitish-gray that predicted a hard snow.

Noiselessly, he climbed to his feet and made his way to the waterfall that was a few minutes away. The forest was beautiful; covered in white and silent and peaceful. The waterfall and lake were stunning as well, and refreshing, he thought, as he knelt down to wash the sleep off his face.

"Hello," said a soft, tired voice from behind him, and he sighed, deeply.

"Fantastic. Just what I want, early in the morning-"

He turned around to finish his statement, but was stunned into silence. Eve was standing, just a few feet away from him, looking at him quizzically, but it took him a few seconds to find his voice.

Sleep had softened her normally harsh face, leaving her cheeks pink and her eyes drowsy and her hair messy. Arthur's red cloak wrapped around her slender shoulders, the color tainting the purity of the scene.

Hell, he'd known the kid was pretty, but now she looked… gorgeous.

"What?" she asked self-consciously, and Lancelot was snapped out of his trance.

He shook his head at her, eyebrows forming a straight line across his dark forehead. "Nothing," he half-spat, and made to move past her. She grabbed his arm with surprising strength, and he glared down at her, only to see bright blue eyes returning his glare.

"I haven't done anything to you," she said, those eyes flashing.

"That would be a matter of opinion-"

"Why are you such a bastard to me?" she snarled, gripping his arm harder.

"Let. Go. Of. Me."

She glared at him but released him and he strode past her, snow crunching under his boots.

"You need me, Lancelot," she called after him.

"I'm sure I do."

"You're going to DIE!" she shouted, her voice echoing faintly through the trees, and he froze, staring at the snow-covered trees in front of him. He heard crunching as she ran to him and then she was in front of him, Arthur's cloak swirling around her. The bottoms of her pants were rolled up, to keep them out of the snow, and he saw those ridiculous stockings of hers.

"You're going to die in less than a week, without me."

"If you're some kind of witch-"

"I'm not a witch, and I'm not planning it," she interrupted him steadily, a steely quality to her eyes and her face that reminded him, in a flash, of Arthur Castus. "But I know what's going to happen, and I want to save you, but you have to _let_ me, Lance."

"Don't call me that," he said warningly, and she narrowed her eyes at him.

"You're a womanizer," she said, and he laughed.

"Really?" he asked, voice dripping with sarcasm.

"So why do you hate me?"

"I only romance attractive women."

She quirked an eyebrow, but didn't say anything. She didn't need to. She was attractive, and they both knew it, but he wasn't going to give in.

"So when you were staring at me a few minutes ago, were you stunned by my gleaming personality?" she asked wryly, her eyebrow rising so high it disappeared under the blonde tendrils of hair that fell into her dark face.

"Something along those lines."

"Are you still gonna be a bastard to me?"

"Can't make any promises, but I'll do my best."

She gave him a snide smile. "Thanks for the comfort."

Turning on her heel, she strode into the woods, the cloak swishing behind her. Swallowing his pride, his eyes darting to the side, Lancelot called, "Eve."

She turned around half way. "Yeah?"

"Why do you want to save me?"

She looked at him for a minute, sizing him up. "Because someone needs to show you that you're worth it," she said finally, then turned and walked away, leaving him standing in the snow and wondering what the hell was wrong with him.

**TBC...

* * *

**

"Love Like Winter" by AFI

A/N: Wow, guys, thanks for all the reviews! That's awesome! I'm glad you guys like it. Anyway, next chapter: Things get steamy between Eve and Lancelot and Eve has an interesting conversation with good ole Marius. PLEASE REVIEW!

Love,

Sarah


	3. Fire And Ice And Irony

_**History Books Forgot About Us**_** by Teenage Anomaly

* * *

**

_You don't know how you got here  
You just know you want out  
Believing in yourself  
Almost as much as you doubt_

Oh no, don't be shy  
There's a crowd to cry  
Hold me, thrill me, kiss me, kill me

They want you to be Jesus  
They'll go down on one knee  
And you're turning tricks  
With your crucifix  
You're a star

**Chapter Three: Fire and Ice and Irony**

They were on the move fairly soon after that, the carriages rumbling along, the Roman soldiers on foot, and the Sarmatians plus Evelyn on horseback.

Arthur rode up next to Evelyn, looking perturbed. She glanced at him.

"You okay?"

"I had an interesting conversation with Guinevere."

"I'm sorry."

He hesitated. "She made several valid points. She said… that animals live, and it's the right of men to live with freedom in their own country."

Inwardly marveling at the fact that Arthur, King Arthur of the round table, was coming to her for comfort and advice, Eve met his eyes.

"She's right."

He looked over at me. "Do you think that we should be here? The Romans?"

"No."

"Why not? We're far more advanced, we can help them to learn, to become civilized-"

"Yeah, maybe. But this is their home, Arthur. Who are we to tell them that we're better?"

He looked at her, green eyes confused and regretful, then he smiled slightly.

"Just a child, and you're so much wiser than so many I've met-"

"I'm a child misplaced in time," she added, grinning as she shook snow out of her blonde hair. "That tends to change things a bit."

He laughed at that before dragging his eyes to the front. "So it does."

---

The day was long, tedious, and very cold. It snowed off and on, and the blanket of white that lay over the rolling lands deadened all the noise of the caravan. The people of the caravan were subdued, exhausted, but excited at the same time. For many of them, this was their first taste of freedom.

Eve was freezing. She wasn't used to cold like this, the kind that crawled under your skin and wrapped around your bones like a living thing. With some of Arthur's clothes she was better off than she had been, but her teeth were still chattering and she was shaking violently.

Lancelot, riding almost twenty feet behind her, noticed this. He could see her shaking from that far away, and he watched as she wrapped her arms around herself and rubbed vigorously. With a sigh, he kicked the horse to ride next to her.

"Eve," he said, pulled on the reins to stop his horse, which gave an indignant nicker, and when she turned to look at him he saw that her lips were tinged with blue. He held out a hand.

It wasn't an action made out of chivalry, or anything romantic like that. It was purely survival. If she died of cold, she wouldn't be able to save him.

"Go get in one of the carriages and rest. I'll take your horse."

"Thank-k-k you s-s-so much," she said, before sliding off the horse and walking awkwardly to the carriage that housed Lucan and the other girl with the stunning dark eyes. She climbed up the ladder to get inside and looked back at him, forcing a grin, before disappearing inside.

---

Shivering so violently she couldn't see straight, and so cold she was falling asleep where she stood, Eve staggered to the pile of furs and blankets and collapsed next to it, pulling some of them around her. She heard Guinevere's voice, and Dagonet's, but she was too tired to discern what they were saying.

" 'M fine," she murmured sleepily, her words running into each other as two blurry faces swam above her. She was speaking in English. "Really, Dag, 'm fine. Jus' let me sleep…"

There was a warm rough hand on her face then, and Guinevere's lovely dark eyes were concerned. Dag hovered over her like a father and she heard him yell, "Arthur!"

"Don'," she protested sleepily and weakly. " I jus' need some sleep, tha's all…"

As the carriage rumbled its way over the countryside, she heard the low, comforting voice of Arthur. Wrenching her eyes open, she saw him crouch down next to her. Concern was plain in his face.

"Evelyn? Stay with me…"

" Jus' let me sleep," she said, and Arthur looked up at Dagonet.

"She's speaking in her native tongue."

"Is she delirious?" asked Guinevere, and as Arthur's eyes darted to her, Eve felt a surge of very powerful jealousy.

"No. She's extremely tired and very cold. We should let her rest."

He made to move with the others, but Eve reached out a shivering hand and grasped his larger one.

"Stay," she murmured. "Jus' till I fall asleep."

As her eyelids finally shut, she didn't see the look of turmoil and regret that crossed Arthur's face.

-

"…. She's stopped shivering…."

"… that good?"

"… no, she's going into shock-"

"-put more blankets on her-"

"… she needs body heat-"

"-I'll stay-"

"They need you at the front, Arthur," interrupted the smooth voice of Lancelot. Eve was inwardly laughing at all of them, she felt fine, but she was too tired to say it out loud. Plus, if they were gonna do what she thought they were…

"I'll stay," said Lance's voice decisively, then she heard rustling and felt the blankets and furs shifting, and suddenly there was a body next to hers, warm and close and he actually smelled good, for once. Strong arms wrapped around her and her heart was pounding violently and she was amazed he couldn't feel it. His breath brushed the side of her face and his beard tickled her forehead. He was holding her much more tightly than he needed too, but somehow, she didn't mind.

Wasn't he supposed to hate her?

_Obviously not_, said the sarcastic side of her.

The floor of the carriage shook as the rest of the people exited. Lancelot tensed, and she felt his chest rumble as he said, "I'll be fine, Arthur."

She felt something like a thrill.

A few seconds later and she felt him lean in. His beard and hair brushed the side of her face and she heard him whisper, "I know you're awake."

She opened her eyes as her heart skipped a beat. She expected to see anger or something like it in the man's eyes, but instead they were hazy and dark. He was very close.

"Heheh," she said, not thinking straight. She felt the urge to break out into uncontrollable giggles as her stomach swelled. Lancelot looked at her as though he was genuinely worried for her sanity.

"I'm not crazy," she said, grinning. He raised an eyebrow and his lips twitched into a smirk.

"I've seen evidence to the contrary."

She was suddenly very aware of his arms around her and his hands holding her at the small of her back. She was completely pressed against him, her head resting on his chest.

"If you knew I was awake, why-"

"The chance wasn't worth the risk."

She grinned at him. "You don't hate me anymore?"

"You're keeping me alive."

"Touché."

He looked at her oddly and she gingerly reached up to brush some of his hair out of his eyes.

"So you do hate me?"

He continued looking down at her and she quirked an eyebrow.

"Thanks for filling me in. I'm fine, really, you can let go now-"

With no warning whatsoever, a big hand moved to the back of her head and then his lips were crushing against hers, hard and hungry and lord, but he tasted good. She gasped, stock still for a moment, and then she kissed him back, her hands moving behind his head, over his face, his neck, his chest, and he was so close but still not close enough-

"Dammit," he growled, still against her lips, and flipped her onto her back. He was on top of her now, hoisting her leg around his waist, kissing her harder than he'd ever kissed anyone. She could feel him, all of him, pressing down on top of her. It was as if someone had lit a match in her stomach.

He pulled back, breathing heavily, and she stared up at him, a silly grin on her face. She looked slightly dazed and her hair was messy.

"Wait a second," she said, and rolled onto her side underneath him, pulled her silver machine out of the pack, touched it, and the strangest music began emanating from it.

"_Then I crashed into you like a runaway train; you will consume me. Cause your face, your eyes are burned into me…"_

"What is that?" he asked her as she lay back down underneath him. She crossed her arms behind her head.

"Crashed, Chris Daughtry. Makes me think of you."

He rolled his eyes but smirked, leaning down to kiss her again. "Knew I shouldn't have asked."

"Lance," she said into his ear, her lips accidentally brushing his jawline.

"Yes?" he said, kissing her collarbone. She shuddered underneath him.

"I- I don't wanna-"

"Don't worry, love," he murmured, his hands going to the hem of Arthur's shirt (the irony of that wouldn't hit him until later) and feeling the soft skin underneath.

"I'm a Christian, Lance."

He looked at her, smirking. "And here I was, expecting you to say 'virgin'."

"Well, that too. I mean, not that this isn't fun, but I don't wanna sleep with anyone till I'm married."

She looked up at him, innocent and tempting and wonderful and infuriating at the same time and dammit, she was smirking at him now, those full lips curving up like she knew exactly what he was thinking (sometimes he was sure she did) and he just wanted to keep kissing her.

He considered forcing her for about half a second. Then he remembered Arthur; remembered that he, Lancelot, needed her.

He sighed angrily, and made to get off her. "Fine-"

"Hey-"

Small hands grabbed the collar of his shirt and she raised herself up to him, smirking.

"Didn't say I was done with you, Lance."

He looked at her, her blue eyes glinting in the half-light from the flickering lanterns, her full lips and her tangled blonde hair, down her slender neck and her inviting chest, and he slammed her back to the ground, kissing her like a man looking for redemption.

-

Lancelot and Eve emerged from the carriage that night when they stopped to camp. Eve was still very giggly and Lancelot felt much less stressed. Though the girl wasn't just a whore he could have and forget, maybe now he could get his mind off her.

She laughed at something he'd already forgotten he said, her eyes flashing up at him in amusement as her little hand slid down his arm, and he realized that he would rather never get off her.

-

"What did you do, Lancelot?"

Arthur's voice was low and quiet as he sat down next to his oldest friend. Lancelot looked over at him. Sometimes it hit him just how majestic and powerful and graceful Arthur looked. Even now, in the dim, foggy light in the snow, he simply _looked_ like a king.

"What do you mean?"

"The girl," said Arthur quietly, and Lancelot's eyes darted to where Eve was sleeping, sprawled on the ground and covered by a thick fur. She was snoring softly.

Lancelot smirked a little. "I warmed her up, as instructed."

Arthur's jaw clenched. "She's not a whore or a barmaid you can simply use and forget, Lancelot."

"Which is the only reason she can still walk."

Arthur glared at him, not in the mood for perverse jokes, and Lancelot sighed, shaking his curly head. "We didn't-"

"For your sake, I hope not."

Lancelot's eyes flashed. "We've known her for little over a week, Arthur. You've never minded my women or what I do with them before. Why this one? I've had younger-"

But when he looked in Arthur's green eyes, now slightly guilty but still steely, his jaw dropped as he realized that wasn't it at all.

"You care for her," he said quietly, and Arthur said nothing, though his jaw tensed more.

"Fifteen years of friendship, and you'd throw it away for a woman? A _girl_?" asked Lancelot, rising to his feet, voice getting louder. Arthur stood up too.

"Lancelot, you know me better than that-"

"Don't you worry about me, _Artorius_," snapped Lancelot, staring at his best friend, who looked regretful but solemn. "Perhaps I'll just go warm up the Woad, now-"

"I'm fine, actually," said Guinevere, a smirk on her face as she joined them. "Although I may hold you to that, later."

She turned to Arthur, who wrenched his eyes off Lancelot. "Yes?" he said.

She jerked her head to the caravan that held the soldiers. "They wish to discuss something with you."

He nodded and made his way to them, never looking back, and Guinevere looked at Lancelot. He glared down at her.

"Isn't this the part where you offer me sympathy, or something?" he snapped down at her. She simply looked at him, her dark eyes as old as time.

"Or something," she said, and strode off, the light blue fabric of her dress swishing after her.

Lancelot stared at her as she disappeared into the trees, then looked over at Eve.

She'd been wearing Arthur's shirt.

Dammit.

The irony hit him full speed then, and he punched a tree, breathing heavily.

"Lance? You okay, mate?" called Gawain. Lancelot shot him a dark look.

"I'm fine," he muttered, storming off.

**TBC...

* * *

**

"Hold Me, Thrill Me, Kiss Me, Kill Me" by U2.

A/N: Funfunffun. Sorry it took me a while to get this up, I've been working on my other sotry basically non-stop. I love LOST. Sorry, the Marius bit is in the next chapter. I forgot about that. COMING UP: Eve and Arthur discuss iPods, Eve and Lancelot fight and make plans, Eve tells off Marius, and they fight the Saxons. PLEASE REVIEW!

Love,

Sarah


	4. The iPod and The Battle

_**History Books Forgot About Us **_**by Teenage Anomaly

* * *

**

_It started out as a feeling  
Which then grew into a hope  
Which then turned into a quiet thought  
Which then turned into a quiet word  
And then that word grew louder and louder  
'Til it was a battle cry  
I'll come back  
When you call me  
No need to say goodbye  
Just because everything's changing  
Doesn't mean it's never  
Been this way before  
All you can do is try to know  
Who your friends are  
As you head off to the war_

**Chapter Four: The iPod and the Battle**

I awoke partly because of the hard, icy ground and partly because I heard raised voices. I sat up with a low groan, just in time to see Lancelot storming into the dark, with a look on his face that made me not want to follow him. He didn't notice that I was awake, striding through the snow like a man possessed.

I knew it would be a while before I felt tired again, which meant that I should find something to occupy myself with until that time.

Well, I _was_ leaning against a tree.

Grinning a little, I rose to my feet and reached up, gripping the rough branches of the tree and hoisting myself up. My feet scrambled against the trunk until I found a foothold and pushed myself up.

Up and up I climbed, branches scratching my face and pulling at my hair, but I found that I was grinning like a wild thing and that I didn't care.

"Are you an ape, or a woman?"

I looked down to see Marius, the fat Roman I'd punched, staring up at me. I leant my elbows on the branch in front of me and grinned down at him.

"I'll let the higher intelligence decide that."

He didn't smile, didn't get the joke. Strike one. "You'll never get a husband, behaving like a savage."

"I don't want a husband."

He blanched. "You won't last a year as a single woman in Rome."

Underestimating me and planning ahead for me. Strike two.

"Who says I'm gonna live in Rome?"

He shrugged, genuinely confused. "Where else would you live?"

I shrugged too, looking at the deep green of the tree around me, and the beautiful snow on the ground, all the beauty all around me. For the first time, I truly understood what environmentalism was all about.

"In the forest. It's beautiful."

"My son will need to marry soon-"

"You makin' an offer?"

"One you'd be a fool to refuse."

"There's some flaws in this logic o' yours, Mary. Your family's well positioned in Rome, which means you'll have your pick of the girls, and that you don't have to settle on a weird lil' foreigner. Which means either Alecto likes me- unlikely, since I've never talked to him and since you'd be able to deny him that anyway- or that _you_ do."

Bad planning. Strike three.

I peered down at him, my grin wider. "So, my dear lil' Roman, which is it? Your boy gotta crush, or do you just wanna have me near by 'case you getta little itch?"

He glared at me. "A woman such as yourself should accept an offer like that without question."

"I'm not anything like the women you're used to, Marius, in case you haven't figured it out," I called down, enjoying myself thoroughly as the pompous little man swelled and turned red.

"You-you _infernal_-"

"Dude, please leave. And if you get itchy while we're here, well-" I nodded at the snoring knights, sleeping only feet away from where I was set up. "For your sake, don't."

The poor guy waddled off, leaving me with an urge to laugh and a bad taste in my mouth.

-

Without realizing it, I fell asleep in the tree, a leg hanging on either side of the branch I was sitting on, leaning against the tree.

"Evelyn."

I jolted awake with a gasping murmur, looking around wildly, disorientated; to see Arthur himself perched on the branch next to me. I stared at him and grinned.

"Looking good, hombre."

His lips twitched. "You should sleep. We have a long road ahead of us tomorrow."

"I _was_ sleeping," I complained as I swung a leg over so that I was facing Arthur.

"Eve, be careful-"

"Seriously, Arty, I'm fine," I grinned as I dropped off the branch and grabbed it. I looked up at him, my breath crystallizing in front of my face, my legs dangling in midair. "I've been doing this for years."

I dropped to the ground with a quiet "oompf" and clambered back to my feet. There was a thud, and Arthur was at my side, though his landing was much more graceful than mine. I nodded appreciatively.

"Nice."

"Thank you."

There was an awkward silence, and I didn't look at him.

"Well, guess I'll get back to bed, then-"

Turning around, I began to make my way back to my pathetic bunk, but-

"Eve?"

"Yes?" I said too quickly, turning around, and he was now closer than he had been, his face heartbreakingly beautiful and solemn.

"Did Lancelot-"

"He didn't do anything that I didn't mind," I said quickly, and some tension left the king's face, but for a second, I could have sworn I saw...

No. I saw nothing. Thinking I saw something like that, well… it would only hurt in the long run.

"Very well."

"Where is he now?"

He glanced over to the carriages and we saw Lance and Guinevere, talking and laughing, and I smiled a sad smile. I'd known it would happen. It had to happen.

Arthur had begun to walk away, and it was my turn to call him back this time, and just like I'd done, he answered a little too quickly and turned around a little too fast.

"Yes?"

I shrugged, a little helplessly. "Thanks. For helping me, taking me in… believing me."

He nodded, then made his way to his cot as I made my way to mine, grinning and screaming at myself at the same time.

---

"Fancy meeting you here."

I turned around to see Lancelot leaning against a tree, arms folded across his chest, a smirk on his gorgeous face.

We'd been riding since before dawn that morning, and it was early afternoon now. We were taking a short reprieve, only thirty minutes. I'd taken the opportunity to shampoo my hair and now had it wrapped up in a blanket. Lancelot seemed to find this amusing.

"What's up?" I said, walking over to him. He put his arms around my waist and pulled the blanket away from my head, sending my still damp hair tumbling around my face. The floral sent of my shampoo surrounded us.

"I was thinking we could get married today," he said, and my heart skipped a beat, though I knew he was joking. I played along.

"Where's the priest?"

"See that tree?" he asked, nodding into the distance. "He was a priest once. We can go to him."

"Witnesses?"

He looked around at the forest, smiling. "The forest is full of them."

I quirked an eyebrow, my lips twitching. "Bed?"

His arms tightened around my waist and he leant down to whisper in my ear, sending shivers up and down my spine. "The world is our bed, darling."

"Hmm. What if you get tired of me? What then, when I'm used and tainted?"

For the first time, his gaze darkened with seriousness. "I'll never tire of you."

He wasn't a white knight. His skin was dark and swarthy, his hair thick and curly, his eyes dark as night. He was a womanizer and a scoundrel and a killer. But his eyes were sincere and dammit, I believed him.

I would have given in, but a different pair of eyes, green and sad, flashed in my mind. Sighing, I laid my head against Lancelot's chest.

"Nah, my white knight. No trees and snow and love for the people like us," I murmured, my fingers clenching at the leather on his chest.

Instead of arguing, like I though he would, he simply returned my sigh and kissed my head.

It wasn't anything. Friends with benefits, at most. Except we weren't friends. But whatever it was, I had to end it before it blew up in my face. Two weeks weren't enough to fall in love with anyone; I was sure of that.

But then those green eyes flashed in my mind again, and I wondered.

-

Lancelot went back to the camp first, to avoid suspicion (not that it mattered- opinions had already formed) and so that I could finish cleaning myself.

When I reached the camp, the knights were on their horses and we were ready to move out. Lancelot was holding onto my mare, a white, dainty thing, and I made my way over to him. It only took two tries to get on top of the horse I'd named Bernard.

I glanced over at Lancelot and grinned. He returned the smile involuntarily, and I looked ahead, to the white mountains and grey skies and a future I was sure of and yet knew nothing about.

"On the road again," I sighed, pulling out my iPod and putting the buds into my ears, losing myself to the songs of Moulin Rouge.

-

"What is that?" came a faint voice and I turned around to see Arthur next to me.

I pulled an ear-bud out and said, "It's an iPod."

"An… eye-pod?"

"Yep. Plays music."

"How?"

"I'm actually not sure," I said, frowning down at the white device in my hands. "I just know it's portable and handy."

"May I?" he asked, nodding to it. I nodded.

"Once sec."

Not completely aware of what I was doing, I took my horse's reigns and tied them to Arthur's saddle, then gingerly swung a leg over, and the next thing I knew, I was sitting uncomfortably on the horse behind the future king.

"Here," I said, sticking a bud in his ear, pushing his thick curls away, my fingers softly brushing the side of his face in a way that I'd be lying if I said was accidental.

Scrolling through songs, I looked for one that wasn't hardcore- or even softcore. Softcore for me would shock the pants off this man.

I settled on an oldie, finally- Desperado by the Eagles. Good song, great lyrics, nice and mellow. Also romantic and very fitting to Arthur and mine's relationship- or lack thereof.

He started when the music began playing, but I saw his cheek lift up in a smile.

"This is astounding," he said as he gently pried the iPod from my fingers and began examining it.

"And you have no idea how this machine operates?"

"No. I'm more of a mechanic than an electrician… but it's not a machine at all. It's digital, which kind of means it runs by signals rather then cause and effect, if that makes any sense."

"Not really," he said, turning back to face me, still smiling. I poked his waist and he raised an eyebrow at me.

"I don't understand most of the words, however… would you mind translating?"

"Sure thing," I said, and then leant forward to softly sing in the ear that didn't have a bud.

"Desperado, oh, you ain't gettin no younger, your pain and your hunger, they're drivin' you home, and freedom, oh freedom, well, that's just some people talkin', your prison is walking through this world all alone…"

---

**Arthur**

I watched over her as she slept that night. Who I was protecting her from (Marius, Lancelot, or even myself) I did not know. Whether it was my own selfishness and greed, my yearning to be near her, I'm too cowardly to say.

In just two weeks, she'd changed from a girl I'd saved out of necessity and reflex to a girl I would die for willingly. She didn't think she needed protecting- she'd made that clear. But as she slept, snoring a little, her blonde hair spread behind her like an angel, I, at least, knew better.

The words she'd whispered to me today had struck more deeply than I cared to admit. The girl knew that; she was no fool. She'd chosen that song for a reason, and that reason was to shake me. She'd succeeded. The story of a man named Desperado (a man who was afraid to let anyone love him) hit much too close to home, and she undoubtedly knew that that would happen.

Not that I'm lonely, by any means. I have my share of friends, male and, when the occasion is right, female. I could have married anytime I chose, with the rich patrons of Roman throwing their daughters at me like lambs to the slaughter. For some reason, I always declined, though they were all pretty and well-mannered and intelligent. Part of me pitied them, always being thrown around to suit men, and part of me thought they should stand up for themselves, for once.

And then, in the strangest of ways, I meet her. Lying in the rain on the forest floor, body twisted and bleeding, wearing clothes none of us had seen and holding a strange blue pack, we would have been heartless to leave her. And as we came to know her, to be able to communicate, we (and I) realized that we were sincerely glad we hadn't left her to die.

I sighed, running a hand through my hair. Almost as though she sensed what I was thinking, Evelyn rolled onto her side, murmuring something. A name.

"Lancelot…" she whispered again, and a stab shot through me.

I should have expected it.

But then-

"No," she whispered, her voice more hoarse, her eyes rolling behind their lids. "Run, Tristan-"

"Evelyn," I murmured, falling to my knees beside her and taking her shoulder. Her eyes shot open and she sucked air in through her teeth. She was panicking.

"You were dreaming," I told her, not relinquishing my hold on her shoulders. She relaxed slightly, then reached up to pat my hand.

I blinked. Strange thing, she was.

"You know how people always say you should never know to much about the future?" she murmured, her blue eyes seeking mine. She was exhausted.

"Yes."

She closed her eyes with a sigh, nestling her head into the pillow.

"They're right."

--

On the third day back (and what Tristan estimated to be the last full day) I was in a pretty sour mood. The nightmare about Tristan and Lancelot contributed to it, as did the fact that I missed real beds and my real life (this still didn't feel completely real) and my friends and family and dammit, I wanted Chinese food. I wanted a car, not these stupid horses.

I felt like crying.

We were surrounded by trees, and even though it was the morning, the sky was dark. It was still snowing- but then, it'd been snowing for almost a week. Why stop now?

I glanced down at Bernard, who nickered and tossed her head. I sighed, patting her long neck.

"You're okay, girl," I whispered to her in English. Speaking in English, hearing my own accent, was like a little piece of home.

"Why do you speak in English when you're alone?"

It was Arthur. He rode up next to me, smiling a little (he was smiling more, these days. I blamed Guinevere. He always laughed when he was with her, and it seemed to me that he sought her out) but there was still that solemnity around him, like he was painted over by a thin layer of sadness.

I half shrugged, not really in the mood to conversate, although I loved having the man near me. He just watched me.

"It's like a piece of home," I said. "Reminds me that it wasn't just a memory."

"You miss it."

The tears began to well and I looked back down to the spotted white and gray coat of Bernard. "More than anything."

"Say something to me in English," he said softly, partly to distract me, I thought. I looked over and gave him a watery smile.

"I love you," I said. There was no flicker of understanding. If he knew what I said, he was very good at hiding it.

"Whatever it is you've left behind, Eve," he said, his voice low and beautiful and man, I loved that accent, "will always be with you."

That did it. I started crying and he looked shocked for about a second, then he rode closer to me and took my hand.

"I just-," I sniffled, rubbing the back of the hand he wasn't holding across my nose, "God, I hate crying. I just wanna know that I'm gonna see them again."

He pulled me over and kissed my forehead, leaving a spot of fire where his unbelievably soft lips had been.

"You will," he said. "You will."

---

I woke up to see Guinevere disappear into the trees and the dark, and Arthur followed her like a man in a trance. Barely awake, my heart twisted.

"Leaves you with a bad taste in your mouth, doesn't it?" said a low voice, and I looked around to see Lancelot, standing up and looking down at me. I nodded, looking at the place where they'd disappeared.

With a heavy sigh, Lancelot sat down next to me, resting his arms on his knees.

"For a moment there, I thought it was you Arthur had an interest in."

As my heart missed several beats, I looked over at him. He was playing me. I could see it in his face.

I just shrugged.

"Then this woman- this Woad- enchants him." He gave a short bark of a laugh. "It's actually quite funny."

I wanted to say so much right then, but couldn't work up the nerve. All I could say was, "Hysterical."

"But then, she's not the kind of girl a man can forget- eyes like coals and lips to die for. She won't just fall into his bed, either- she'll wait till he has something she needs." He cocked his head, a dark grin on his face.

"Sound familiar?"

"It's you that needs me, Lancelot," I snapped, my eyes snapping onto him finally. He was supremely unimpressed by my flare of anger, still smirking darkly. I'd walked right into his trap, and I knew it.

"I thought I was speaking of Arthur and Guinevere-"

"We both know what you were talking about."

"So you've fallen into _his_ bed as well?"

"I didn't sleep with you, Lance," I spat, glowering at him. The smirk was gone now, leaving only anger.

"You did enough."

"You didn't seem to mind."

"You used me."

I stared at him, incredulously. "I _used_ you? _How_?"

I would have been offended if the mere thought of the statement wasn't ridiculous.

"To get to Arthur."

It was my turn to smirk and his gaze darkened more. "Lancelot, if I want to get to Arthur, I can do it alone."

"He's a stronger man than most."

"I got to you, didn't I?"

The words were out of my mouth before I though about their implications, but it didn't matter. Lance and I both knew it was true. His jaw clenched and his eyebrows slammed together.

"Obviously I made a mistake."

"Lance, why are you pissed at me?"

"I don't like being made a fool of," he snarled suddenly, eyes flashing, and suddenly he was very close to my face. I just shook my head.

"I'm not trying to make a fool out of you, Lance. I care about you."

"Really?" his voice was dripping with sarcasm.

"Look, you're the serial heartbreaker here! I should be in your position, pissed and hurt! What happened?"

He glared at me, and rose to his feet in a fluid motion. "You and Arthur have become very close. I'll leave you to find your comfort in his arms."

He turned and walked away, and, swearing loudly in English, I clambered to my feet and followed him. I reached up and grabbed his shoulder, whirling him around.

"Are you telling me you've never had feelings for two women at the same time?"

"I'm a man," he said, very quietly. "I have that right."

And then the feminist side of me came out. I raised my eyebrows and crossed my arms across my chest. "So, because I'm a girl, I'm not allowed to be conflicted?"

"Exactly," he snarled, stepping towards me. I punched him in the chest, and he let out an "oomf", then glared at me in surprise.

"Yes, I like Arthur," I said, as quietly as he had, stepping closer to him. "And I like you. I know the way history runs, Lance, and this is gonna break more hearts than mine."

"Explain yourself."

"I can't, Lancelot. But whatever happens..." I reached up, hesitantly, to put a hand on the side of his face. His eyelids flickered when my hand came into contact with his cheek. "Whatever happens, we're the left-overs."

"If I live."

"You will live," I said, and then he embraced me tightly, crushing me to his warm chest.

Arthur and Eve.

Lancelot and Guinevere.

Relationships that were damned by history itself, even if that was the way our hearts truly beat. Lancelot and I were not each other's first choice; we both knew that. But we were resilient; we weren't the type to be beaten down by mere heartbreak. And we could be happy with each other.

But I still found myself clinging to the hope that maybe, just maybe, history could change.

---

Lancelot and I came to a kind of agreement that night. If history ran its course the way it was supposed to, we could learn to love each other. We could make each other happy. If, however, history changed… well, parting would doubtlessly be a sweet sorrow. But he loved Guinevere (although he didn't know it) and I… I loved Arthur.

I, little Evelyn Bond from the 21st century, was in love with a king of legends. A king so amazing and wonderful and noble and awesome that stories about him had survived over a thousand years.

And I loved him. It wasn't so surprising, really- I'd always had a fondness for men that were so off-limits they may as well have lived on a different planet.

I awoke the next morning to a commotion and leapt to my feet. Marius, the fat bastard, had little Lucan at knifepoint.

"Kill him!" he commanded the soldiers that were holding Dagonet. I grabbed the sword Arthur gave me to use (dang, it was heavy) and began to run over there, but at that moment, and arrow hit Marius' chest. The man's eyes went wide and he fell over. Lucan ran to Dagonet, who scooped him up. Lancelot and Arthur and Guinevere and I turned to the rest of the soldiers. Arthur pointed his sword at them.

"You have a choice," he said, a triumphant smirk spreading over his face as he cocked his head slightly to the side. "You help… or you die."

Yeah. I basically melted.

We were on the move again very soon. I was a bundle of nerves, knowing that today would be the day we fought the Saxons- "we" including "me".

I didn't take much time for us to reach the ice, and even less time after that for the knights and Arthur to prepare to fight.

"We have seven men-" began Arthur, but Guinevere interrupted him.

"Eight," she said. "You could use another bow."

She walked away to join the line of knights, Arthur's eyes following her.

"Nine," I said, suddenly, grabbing a bow and a quiver, although I had no idea how to use them. It couldn't be that hard, right?

I wanted a gun.

Arthur's eyes followed me, much as they had Guinevere, and I went to stand next to Lancelot.

The ice was clear now, and we were just waiting for the Saxons. They stormed onto the ice, noisy and ready for blood.

Now that the moment was here, I wasn't as nervous as I thought I'd be. Ice was curling around my stomach, but my head was clear. If I died, I died. Maybe I'd go back home if I died.

A Saxon shot off an arrow, and it fell far short.

"Tristan, Bors," said Arthur, and the men raised their bows. Guinevere turned to Arthur.

"They're far out of range."

Arthur simply smirked.

The arrows flew over the ice and into the ranks of the Saxons.

The war had begun.

"Fire at will," instructed Arthur as the Saxons began rushing us, and all the knights began shooting. I missed several times, and then one of my arrows flew straight into the ranks and a man fell to the ice.

It was an odd feeling. Something seemed to break off my heart, but I felt a kind of elation at the same time. My emotions were deadened by adrenaline and the situation: I knew what had to be done. I could reminisce later.

"Make them cluster!" shouted Arthur and we began firing more rapidly at the sides. I glanced at Dagonet- I didn't know how to save him.

Tristan was smiling, for the first time since I'd seen him, while Galahad, Gawain, Lance and Guinevere were entirely focused on the task at hand. Arthur's lovely face was a mixture of regret and determination. He didn't like killing.

We shot at the edges of the ranks, making them group, and we heard as well as felt the shuddering of the ice under our feet. My fingers were beginning to go numb.

"Prepare for combat!" shouted Arthur and we dropped our bows to pick up our close-range weapons.

Okay, now I was getting worried.

Dagonet's face went through a range of emotions before he finally dropped the sword to grab the axe. He rushed out to the Saxons, swinging the axe and bellowing.

"Cover him!"

"DAGONET!"

We did our best, we really did. We took them out as they fitted the arrows to their bows, but our frenzied hands couldn't get them all.

Arthur dropped his weapons and grabbed a shield, running out to Dagonet.

"Fuck it," I snarled, and, grabbing Lance's shield, followed him.

"Evelyn!" Lancelot shouted, but I didn't look back. I held the shield over my torso, my head ducked as arrows whizzed around me. I dropped to my knees and skidded on the ice, landing next to Dag and Arthur. I held the shield over him, meeting Arthur's eyes. We both knew the man wasn't going to live.

The ice cracked, a sound like a gunshot, and Dag disappeared into the waters below.

"Dag!" I shouted, plunging my arms into the freezing water to pull him back up.

Arthur and I dragged him back, the rest of the knights running out to help us. Guinevere fired her last shot, a warning the Saxons wouldn't forget.

"Stay with me," shouted Bors, slapping Dagonet's face, his eyes wild. "STAY WITH ME!"

**TBC...

* * *

**

"The Call" by Regina Spektor. Lovely, lovely song.

A/N: Wow, guys, I didn't intend for it to take this long to get this chapter up! It's been done forever, I just haven't taken the time to get it put up, I guess. I've been working on a LOST sotry (which I just finished!) and right now, this story is my priority. I've got one or MAYBE two chapters I've got to finish, and I think this story is gonna be in the ballpark of ten chapters. So we're about halfway done. POLL TIME! Who do you want good ol Eve to get with?

All the best,

Sarah


	5. Girl Anachronism

_**History Books Forgot About Us**_** by Teenage Anomaly

* * *

**

_Incognito, spittin' like motherfuckin' torpedos  
Tornados, compose, compositions equivalent to collisons,  
Or contusions, incisions, illusions, glocks  
The bomb pop bomb rocks serve all blocks  
Or you get all bombed drop  
Where ya pistol punk?,  
Dump, get slumped, slapped and wrapped pack ramsacked  
Shot blazed burned scorched to a crisp,  
Then stripped ah all ya shit  
Bust it's penetrated  
Detonated and invaded then I'm out punk_

**Chapter Five: The Girl Anachronism**

The remainder of the journey was a solemn one. Most of the knights were stonily quiet, and Bors was past caring about the tears that trickled down his face.

Bishop Germanius was waiting for us at the wall. His eyes passed over me, condescending but curious, lingering on my jeans and Arthur's shirt and cloak and then on my face, flushed from the wind, tanner than the women here, and with a softness that betrayed my exhaustion, and then turned his gaze on the knights.

"Bishop Germanius," said Arthur, very quietly, stepping up to him. "Friend of my father."

He turned on his heel and strode away, leaving Lancelot to give the men their deeds. Guinevere exchanged a look with me.

We stayed in the courtyard, the two of us, until Vanora approached us with a baby on her hip.

"C'mon," she said. "You two can share a room."

-

There was to be a party in the tavern that night in honor of the knights, although, really, all they wanted to do was drink with each other and wallow in despair together. They wanted to be left alone but, unfortunately, the townspeople were not to have it. I told Guinevere, in no uncertain terms, that she was coming with me.

Although she and I were rivals, I was growing to be very fond of her. She was intelligent and funny and resourceful.

I was simply biding my time, wandering through the fort, when I came across Arthur at his father's grave. His beautiful face was deep in thought, his ebony brow furrowed as he stared at the mound of green earth.

"A grave without a sword," I said quietly, crouching next to him. He glanced at me.

"My father's. He wished to be buried here, with his knights."

"He died fighting?"

"It's a… family tradition," he said, smiling slightly. We lapsed into silence, he looking at the grave, me studying the rich green of the cemetery.

"It wasn't your fault, you know," I said finally. "Dagonet."

"Fifteen years," he murmured. "Fifteen years they've served me better than I deserve-"

"You let them be the judge of that," I said, and he glanced at me. We rose to our feet, and he towered over me. I took a step closer to him and put a hand on his arm. The parallels between this conversation and one that would never happen were beginning to hit me. "You protected people you've never known, you've fought a fight that's never been yours. These are your people, Arthur. You have a home and a heart here, whether you like it or not."

His eyes, pieces of green fire, bore into me. My hand fell to my side and I turned on my heel, striding back to the fort.

I knew a thing or two about belonging and not belonging. I was trapped in a time that wasn't my own.

-

I wore a medieval dress for the first time that night. It was a light green color with a simple silver band around the hips, a v-neck (to show off my awesome boobs) and trailing sleeves. Guinevere helped me pull my hair back, leaving tendrils of blonde curling around my face, and I did her make-up in the style of the 21st century.

Heartbreakers, the pair of us.

We left for the tavern together, laughing, ready for a night of… well, we weren't really sure.

The knights were all there. Bors was staring at the empty seat next to him. Galahad told me that that was where Dagonet had sat, every time they came to get drunk together. Every time someone except for Vanora or a knight approached him, Bors glowered in a way that could melt steel.

I drank only a little of the ale. Not because it was bad, it was actually really good, but I knew I'd need a clear head tomorrow.

Arms were suddenly around my waist and a curly head rested on my shoulder.

"You should sing," murmured Lancelot, kissing my neck. I grinned and reached around to pat his head.

"I don't know any songs that aren't in English."

"I've heard you sing before-"

"Come dance with us, Lancelot!" shrieked two very feminine voices, and the both of us looked up to see two Roman girls, about my age, glowering at me and simpering at Lancelot in the same look. Lancelot glanced at me and, seeing my raised eyebrow, laughed.

"Not now, my loves," he called to them, spinning me around. He placed his hands on my hips and smirked down at me.

"Jealous?"

"Nope. Wanna hit them over the head with a barstool, but that doesn't count-"

He laughed, really laughed, tilting his head back, before grabbing my face and kissing me suddenly.

"If it all goes to shit, I'm greatly going to enjoy life with you," he said fondly. I glanced over at Arthur, who was staring at the two of us.

"I'll be right back," I mumbled, and, trailing a hand across his chest, made my way over to him. He turned away before I got to him.

"Something strong," he murmured, and then a tankard of ale was sliding into his hands. I sat on the rickety old stool next to him, my legs facing him.

"Hey, Arthur."

He glanced over at me. "You seemed to be enjoying yourself."

"Arthur, you know me and Lance are just each other's back-up plan, right?" I blurted out, not looking away from him. He straightened up now, and looked at me full on.

"What do you mean?"

I sighed, shaking my head. "I mean that I'm not his first choice."

I stared at him, right in the eyes, making sure he got my point, even though I was flushing brightly. "Just like he's not mine."

With that I rose to my feet and, holding my dress out of the way, made my way to the floor.

-

Later that night and the fort was in a panic. Arthur, Guinevere, Lance and I rushed to the top of the battlements to see the Saxons, camping around fires. I half collapsed on top of the stones, just staring at them, the fires lighting the night like a harsh word on a cold day.

"Oh. Shit."

"My faithful knights… my journey with you must end here."

Guinevere and I glanced at each other, then followed Lancelot and Arthur down the steps. They were arguing, Lancelot following Arthur, anger and frustration clear in every movement that he made. I watched my boys go, knowing that one of them might not live another twenty four hours. Arthur whirled around now as Lancelot's hand fell off his shoulder. There was a fire in his eyes that I hadn't seen before. It was like the rest of the world, the smoky night and the fearful villagers, fell away, leaving only the four of us: the two passionate knights of legend, the beautiful and fierce warrior woman, and me, the girl anachronism.

"Then be my friend and do not dissuade me now. Seize the freedom you have earned and live it for the both of us. I cannot follow you, Lancelot! I now know that all the blood I have shed, all the lives I have taken, have led me to this moment."

Lancelot nodded after a moment, defeated, and Arthur clapped him on the shoulder, his hand trailing across him as he made his way back to his quarters.

Just for the record, the fangirl in me was drooling.

Lancelot looked up to see both Guinevere and I looking to him. He stared at us, a mixture of sadness and resignation on his face, before he, too, went to his rooms. Guinevere grabbed my hand.

"I'm going to him," she said quietly. I just looked up at her, my heart breaking. There was knowing in her eyes, but an urgent need, too. She had to do this. History demanded it. Who was I to change the world?

"Go," I said. "Go, and give him a little bit of heaven before the hell."

-

I grabbed Guinevere in the gray hours before dawn that morning as she made her way to the forest, where her people were waiting. Her skin was flushed, her dress somehow… clumsy. I didn't need to ask why. Man, my heart hurt. She turned to me.

"I want to fight with you," I whispered. "I want to fight as a Woad."

She appraised me for a moment, not as a friend, but as a warrior. She nodded, her beautiful face gaunt in the morning light.

_Maybe if she'd gotten some sleep…_ I thought bitterly.

-

I stood uncomfortably to the side while Guinevere conversed with several other Woads. I saw Merlin- he was older than he had been in the movie, more like the wizard of legend, though he was built like a warrior. He kept glancing over at me in the same was as Guinevere had done, appraisingly. Whatever he saw, he seemed to like it.

Guinevere approached me, a bowl of blue paint in her hand, two pairs of pants and quite a collection of leather strips thrown over her arms.

-

Without a doubt, the most awkward outfit I'd ever worn. The pants were okay, but the shirt- if it could be called a shirt- was merely a broad strap of leather over my chest (my boobs were way too big for the strips Guinevere used) and several more crisscrossing strips across my stomach and back. Guinevere braided small sections of my hair before pulling it back and out of my face. Armed with the blue paint, she put a wash over my body that gave me a deathly tinge, then added another layer that made me actually look blue. Then she took thicker paint and drew designs on my arms and my face.

When she was done, I took my cross off its chain and put it on a piece of string that hung much closer to my neck.

I rose to my feet and looked at her. There was a sword at my back and I was clutching at a bow and several arrows.

In just three weeks, I'd gone from the average teenage American girl to a warrior. To an anachronism, an anomaly, something that was just plain wrong. Everyone in this time knew it, too. I could see it when they got near me. I just felt wrong.

And now, I could use that to my advantage.

Let the chaos begin.

**TBC..

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**

"Let's Blow Shit Up" by Kurupt

A/N: Man, life really has a habit of interfering.


	6. Savior

_**History Books Forgot About Us **_**by Teenage Anomaly

* * *

**

_The winner takes it all  
The loser standing small  
Beside the victory  
That's her destiny_

I was in your arms  
Thinking I belonged there  
I figured it made sense  
Building me a fence  
Building me a home  
Thinking I'd be strong there  
But I was a fool  
Playing by the rules

The gods may throw a dice  
Their minds as cold as ice  
And someone way down here  
Loses someone dear  
The winner takes it all  
The loser has to fall  
It's simple and it's plain  
Why should I complain?

**Chapter Six: Savior**

The battle started, and I wasn't scared. A little nervous, maybe, but not scared. Dying didn't worry me, anymore. I kind of thought that if I died, I'd go back to my time.

It was bedlam. War cries, death cries, every kind of cry. I slashed through people without really thinking about it, bested them if they challenged me, and let them go if they conceded defeat- which wasn't often. How I could fight like this, I didn't know- maybe it was a mixture of adrenaline, maybe I'd been hiding a monster inside me my entire life, but whatever it was, it kept me alive.

The field was filled with smoke that made me cough and yells that made me wince.

I had to find Tristan.

I grunted as I struck downwards, putting all my force behind the blow. The man fell to the ground. I'd have nightmares later.

Then, out of nowhere, there was a pain unlike anything I'd ever felt before in my arm and I look down to see a sword protruding from my shoulder. I screamed and whirled around, cutting the man in half. Blood trickled out of his mouth and he fell to the ground.

Panting and gasping, I pulled the sword out. I muffled a cry, then untied one of the strips from my stomach and tied it over the wound.

Ancient medicine for the win.

And then it was back into the battle. I didn't have time to get the pain under control. I just had to work through it.

I found Tristan, fighting Cerdic. I couldn't beat him, I knew that- but maybe I could distract him.

I ran for them and, not really knowing how it happened, got in between them, my sword against Cerdic's, grinning up at him against the glare of the sun. His eyes glinted and there it was again, that instinctual flash of fear in his eyes. I was wrong and he knew it.

"Tristan, leave," I ordered, staring at Cerdic and trying to disguise my fear.

"Yeah, Tristan," said Cerdic, his voice soft but dangerous, his eyes dark. "Leave, and let a woman save you."

I pulled my sword down, quick as a flash, grabbed Tristan's arm, and dragged him away.

"Don't-" he said, making to go back, but I stopped him.

"He almost killed you just a minute ago," I said, my eyes boring into his as I shouted over the fight. "If you go back, he'll finish the job!"

Tristan thrust his sword between my body and my arm, and the would-be-attacker behind me fell to the ground with a groan. I looked back at Tristan with a shocked face.

"Thanks."

-

I charged through the battlefield, sword flashing, searching my damndest for Lancelot and Cynic. Tristan was safe; he could take care of himself- but where the hell was Lance?

There he was. Through the black smoke two figures took form; an enormous bald man and a smaller man, fighting for his life.

Screaming words I can't remember, I charged for them. Lancelot turned around for half a second and Guinevere screamed his name but I slammed into him just in time.

The arrow that should have killed him pierced another Saxon instead, and he fell to the ground with a gurgle. I looked from the corpse to Lancelot, my eyes wide, my body shaking.

"You're okay," he said, thinking I was in shock.

"I know!" I snapped, rising to my feet. "Get up!"

I pulled him up and he embraced me. I melted into him for a mere second, and then I screamed as Cynic charged us.

Three swords were stuck in the man's body in the next second. Lance and I grinned at each other, and then Guinevere pulled her sword out of him and walked around to us.

I was hysterical from joy. They were alive; I'd done it. They were alive, history was saved or damned, but I didn't care. They were alive and we were going to win.

The three of us exchanged on last look, then, yelling, charged at the remaining Saxons.

They didn't last long.

Once the battle was all but won, we walked around, almost leisurely, laughing like old friends as we searched for the rest of the knights. I tried not to think about the blood covering my body that wasn't mine and the piercing, burning pain in my shoulder.

As we found them, they joined us, and soon we were only looking for Arthur.

He was just a figure in the smoke, just a shape, just an idea.

And then he began running towards us, a grin on his face, and the next thing I knew, I was in the middle of a medieval love pile. The men were whooping and cheering and slamming on each other's sore backs as I jumped up and down and screamed like the idiot I was, as Guinevere simply stood, a small smile on her face. She looked at peace, for the first time since I'd met her. And why shouldn't she be? For now, at least, her home was safe.

Tristan grabbed me and hugged me so tightly I couldn't breathe. It wasn't a pleasant experience; though he was very attractive and muscular, he smelled like blood and sweat. I did too, though.

"You saved me today," he said in my ear, too low for anyone but me to hear. "I will owe you that every day of the life you've given me."

Grinning so widely my cheeks actually hurt, I pulled back to nod at him, my eyes glistening with tears.

All the knights hugged Guinevere and I, and Bors actually picked me up and swung me around.

"We won! We've won! Hahahahaaha!" he cackled, and I couldn't help joining in.

Gawain hugged me like I was a man, slamming my back and wincing when I did the same to him. "Damn, you're tougher than you appear," he said sheepishly, rubbing his back and grinning. Galahad held me tightly; burying his face in my shoulder so no-one would see he was crying. I rubbed his back and rocked him from side to side gently.

Lancelot merely put a hand on my shoulder and smiled down at me, and that smile said it all.

"Told you," I couldn't resist saying, and after looking at me, he burst into laughter and hugged me tightly.

Arthur was regarding me with that mixture of pride and awe and affection, and I ran at him and jumped into his arms, my legs actually wrapping around his metal-clad waist. He spun me, and then I lowered myself to the ground, not letting go of him. He held me tightly, so tightly, his face buried in my shoulder like Galahad's had been.

"Thank you," he said, his voice muffled. I kissed the top of his head.

I loved him. So much it hurt. But if history went how it was supposed to, I could be happy with Lance, or even on my own. I loved him, and for his sake and that sake of the future, I had to forget that. I loved him, and Lancelot loved Guinevere, and history, the way it would be written, was wrong. But history was a hard thing to fight, even for someone like Arthur. Even for someone like me.

I didn't let him see me cry.

**---**

Braewyn, Tristan's beloved hawk, came back that evening, and he promptly sent her to Vanora with a message that the fort was safe; to come back.

The knights and Woads ate together that night at the round table. I sat next to Guinevere and a Woad boy named Alnwyn.

The meal was cheerful, a bonding of two cultures and two groups of people who'd been fighting for the past hundred years. Arthur and Guinevere were seated side by side, with Merlin on Arthur's right hand.

As for Lance and I, the leftovers… we simply tried to hold ourselves together.

I didn't eat. I glanced down at the meat, so different than what I was used too, and saw the men I'd killed.

Rising to my feet, I muttered, without looking at anyone, "I don't feel that well. I'm gonna go to bed."

Without glancing back at them, I walked out of the hall, feeling the eyes of Romans and Woads and Sarmatians at my back.

---

When I got into the quarters I'd been moved to, so that Guinevere and I had our own rooms, I collapsed onto the scratchy bed and clutched at the pillow, burying my face in it, sobbing body-wracking, gut-wrenching sobs. The kind that hurt, physically. Tears poured from my wide eyes down my face, but my cries were muffled by the pillow.

I cried for the men I'd killed, for Lance, for me, for my family, for missing my home, for Arthur… oh, Arthur…

The next day dawned gray and cloudy as the men set about getting the fort cleaned.

I wasn't bothered. I simply lay in my bed, staring at the ceiling, motionless, expressionless, trying so hard to be thoughtless and heartless. My heart was snapping under all this weight, I could feel it. Arthur wasn't even gone yet, and I missed him.

The day passed. The block of light on the wall of my room grew brighter and then dimmed as the day passed its course, and still I didn't move. Not to use the bathroom, not to bathe, not even when I heard laughter outside my window. I may as well have been dead.

The light of the sun was soon replaced by the glow of the moon, and still I didn't move. I couldn't find the energy or the will to shift myself an inch.

**TBC...

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**

"The Winner Takes It All" by ABBA

A/N: Seriously, there is so much shit going on in my life right now I can't even think of anything to write. Thanks for sticking with this story. There's like, three chapters left.


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